


You're The Only Thing That's Going On In My Mind

by ravenclaw13



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: M/M, This Is STUPID, nice Alfie, oblivious Tommy, pining Alfie, suspicious Tommy, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 04:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11775288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclaw13/pseuds/ravenclaw13
Summary: In which Tommy Shelby trusts no bitch and Alfie just wants Tommy to take his hat off.





	You're The Only Thing That's Going On In My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during season two. Starts right before the time jump in the first meeting between Alfie and Tommy. Title is from the 1975 because Matt Healy is a god.

“I’m sorry, go on. Tell us your plan.” Alfie said, a sarcastic smirk plastered on his face. Under normal circumstances, Tommy would have left the meeting at this point, written it off as hopeless. The Jewish man, while certainly just as intimidating and commanding as his reputation implied, was arrogant. More so than Tommy had expected from someone losing a war with the Italians. He simply refused to acknowledge that he needed the help, or even that his position in the dispute was… not - advantageous, to say the least. Tommy had expected him to bristle at the unpleasant truths he’d spoken, but he hadn’t expected to have a gun pulled on him so early into their first meeting. 

However, Thomas Shelby was nothing if not adaptable and these were hardly normal circumstances. This deal was essential to his plan to bring down Sabini and gain ground in London. He recognized that he needed to change tactics and so he did. He kept his calm, spoke smoothly about his plan to bring Solomons men, and made sure to imply that the men would be useful to Alfie in the gang war without suggesting that the man needed his help. As he spoke, he noticed the changes in the Jewish gangster’s expression. His eyes, which at first conveyed hostility veiled with a thin layer of amusement, began to convey something else. Something Tommy couldn’t quite place. Something like respect, perhaps, but more intense. Rivalry? Whatever it was, it made Tommy uneasy, but he kept his voice steady and his hands still. And that’s how he walked out of the bakery and into the crisp London air with a contract between the Peaky Blinders and Alfred Solomons. 

~

They met every week, at Alfred’s bakery to talk business. The meetings themselves were generally uneventful but Thomas’s feeling of unease continued throughout their frequent association. It was like Alfred never stopped looking at him. From the moment he walked into the bakery to the moment he left he could feel the man’s eyes on his face. Upraising him, judging him, setting a date for his demise. He spoke in a quieter voice since the first meeting, his hands resting openly on the table as if to show Tommy there was no need to fear him pulling a gun again. His face was almost always expressionless unless he complaining about the Italians or yelling at Ollie for being generally forgetful. Thomas couldn’t place why the man had changed since their first meeting, or even what had caused the change but he did know one thing, it was suspicious as hell. And if Alfred Solomons thought he could weave some elaborate plan together over Tommy’s head under the guise of playing nice, he had greatly miscalculated. 

~

When he was about to leave Alfred’s office at the close of their eighth meeting the man reached across the desk and grabbed his hat. It took everything in Tommy to keep his jaw from dropping. Alfred, meanwhile, stared at the piece of cloth, turning it over in his hands, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to just reach over and pluck the hat right off the head of a man you hardly knew. 

“So it’s true what they say, ay? You boys sew razors up in your caps?” The way he said it implied a question, but he already knew the answer. He was running his finger over the metal. Alfred glanced up and met Thomas’s gaze “You ought to take the fucking thing off every once in a while, mate. It suits you.” His tone was soft. His hand brushed Tommy’s when he returned the hat. Tommy stared.

~  
At the next meeting, Alfred offered him whiskey. Thomas accepted, and Alfred poured out two glasses. Thomas felt the man’s finger on his wrist when he took the liquor but it was gone in a flash and then Alfred was across the table giving Tommy that same peculiar look, palms flat on the desk. 

“I see you didn’t take my advice then, mate.” Alfred said.

“I”m sorry?”

“My advice on the hat. You’re wearing it.” Alfred answered. His tone was still light, but Thomas couldn’t stop the feeling that they were talking about more than a cap. He decided to say nothing, he just met Alfred’s eyes cooly and sipped his liquor. 

“A sore spot for ya, is it? That hat of yours? You not like taking it off or something? Not a fan of the wind in your hair ay?” Alfred laughed. Thomas tensed.

“I came to discuss business, Mr. Solomon.” Thomas replied, and if his tone is more biting than really appropriate well, who could blame him? They lived in the cutthroat world of gangsters, Tommy didn’t have the energy to entertain this shit. “I don’t have time for…” Tommy let his voice trail off into nothing because really he hardly had words for what was going on.

Alfred glared. “Time for what?” He asked. His voice was genial but there was a threat lurking beneath the surface, a vague outline Thomas couldn’t quite make out. He knew it was there, none the less. 

“Can we get back to business?” Thomas asked carefully, quietly. 

“Sure lad, we can get back to fucking business.” Alfie snapped, pulling open his books. The older man still looked miserable, but the hostility from a moment ago was mostly gone. Thomas felt himself relax in his chair. 

~

Tommy decided to invite Alfie to the Garrison when their tenth meeting concluded. He figured it made more sense to deal with the man on his own terms, in his own home. It was as close to an outright threat as Tommy had ever made to Alfie. The implications, he assumed, were obvious. London may have been Solomon’s territory but Thomas Shelby owned Birmingham. Alfred Solomons, for his part, seemed delighted. 

“Does that mean the booze is on you this time aye?” Alfie asked, his voice warm. He pulled his lips back, teeth glistening in a wide smile. Tommy nodded but he didn’t smile back.

~  
Alfie whistled low when he walked through the Garrison doors for their meeting. Tommy had closed early that night, so as to ensure privacy between himself and Mr. Solomons. Birmingham was his city alright, but that didn’t mean he needed customers knowing about his expansion into London. His secrets had a way of getting around, it seemed, no matter how much fear the Shelby name inspired. 

“It’s a fucking nice looking pub you’ve got here, mate. The finest in Birmingham I’d bet.” Alfie said, pulling up a stool at the bar. 

“A safe bet.” Tommy replied smoothly, as he poured out two drinks. 

“A toast.” Tommy declared, “to good business and better business partners.” He hoped Solomon could feel the sarcasm, but the other man simply tossed back his liquor and nodded slightly. His eyes on Tommy’s face the whole time. 

“What’d I tell you about that hat aye? How many bloody times..” Alfred’s voice trailed off easily and with an amused roll of his eyes, he reached his hand up for Tommy’s hat. Tommy grabbed the man’s wrist just as his fingers closed around the gray fabric. He narrowed his eyes and met Alfie’s gaze. It was silent for a long time. Tommy was certain that this was a move of some kind. A symbolic gesture, meant to show the younger man that Alfie was the one in charge. But Tommy was a fucking Shelby and he knew nothing if not how to hold his ground. 

He expected Alfie to jerk his hand away or swing his fist at Tommy’s face or do anything other than what he did do, which was take his other hand and touch Tommy’s cheek.

“Easy lad.” He said gently like he was talking to some scared little boy and not a fully grown fucking man. It would have infuriated Thomas if it didn’t confuse the hell out of him. “You’re a weird one, ya know that? Ya like the bloody hat, keep it then. Fuck do I care?”

And it was right at that moment that Thomas realized Alfie’s face was getting awfully close to his and before he could decide on the best course of action to deal with that he was being kissed. He tensed and prepared to pull away but then… well, it was just that Alfie’s lips were so warm and his hand was soft on Tommy’s cheek. The kiss was over as soon as it started and then Alfie was looking at him, hands resting on Tommy's face.

Suddenly it hit him: this was Alfie’s grand scheme. A kiss. A fucking kiss. That was all. Alfie didn't want to kill him, he wanted to fuck him. Tommy's lips trembled, desperate to hold in a laugh. Alfie was still staring. It was same look from before, from all those meetings spanning back weeks, but now Tommy knew, he knew, and he wasn't afraid. Relief burned through his veins, settling in his stomach; warmer and heavier than whiskey.


End file.
